


Stopping Is a Question of Waiting or Pulling Back

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Confused Sans, Frisk Needs to Reset, Gen, Genocide Run, How Do I Tag, Implied Previous Pacifist Run, Post Reseted Pacifist Run, Sad Sans, Sans Needs A Hug, Sans Vent, Very cringey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 17:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14265726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: How many times has he seen this?orBasically just some short piece of Sans vent, if you like that sort of thing.(it's very cringey, be warned)





	Stopping Is a Question of Waiting or Pulling Back

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. You clicked on it.  
> I don't own the characters here, oh no. They all belong to Toby Fox. I'm just writing some awful fanfictions for them.

Can it just stop?  
Please.  
Make it stop. 

It hurts, more than anyone would ever believe it would.  
Being helpless.  
Hopeless.  
Worthless. 

People would think that pain would numb out eventually, but it doesn’t. It feels the same each time. Feeling the dust on his bones, scraping against his face. He squints through the fog, hoping, praying, begging that someone might be on the other side of the mist. But, it’s always the same. There’s a scarf. It’s flailing in the wind, flattened underneath a mound of snow and a powder. He reaches down, trembling. His hand won’t stop shaking.  
He’s seen this before.  
But he can’t remember. It’s just a blur of red and white and blue and pink and skeletal hands shaking dusty hands and red eyes and blood and yellow pillars and sunlight that never happened and – 

None of it’s real.  
It happened once.  
But they can’t remember.  
He can barely hold on to them. Everyone hardly seems real anymore. The same smiles, the same eyes, the same worried looks when he comes home really late.  
The same stupid, false hope.  
Everyone’s holding on to something that’s already been taken from them. Dozens of times. And, the funny thing is, even if their hope is rewarded, it could be stripped from them with a pulse of power, a desire to go back, restart it all over again.  
He can’t even remember the surface. He knows he’s been there, at least once, somehow. But, he can’t visualise it. When he closes his eyes, it’s just that same image: a scarf in the wind.  
And that’s all he’s ever left with. A picture of time stood still, the snow frozen in place, his eye barely even lit when they appear from the darkness, a curious expression on their face.  
They’ve killed him. They’ve killed him. They’ve killed them. They’ve killed everyone.  
Over and over and over and over and over and over and ov –  
And he can’t do anything about it.  
He can watch. And cry and laugh and feel the pain he’s felt many times before, but he can’t stop it. 

And that’s why it hurts. Each time he sees their eyes, the dust on the blade, the scarf in the wind, the curious smile, he asks himself, how many times have I seen this?  
How many more?

He can’t take it anymore.  
Can it just stop?  
Please.  
Make. It. Stop. 

It hurts.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I guess if you got here then you read it...??? Well done?? Uh, I know that this is rubbish. I just wrote and thought, "hey, the world would 100% benefit from this," so here we are.


End file.
